A sky of gray and pink tones was descending upon us. The ocean was petrified, its agitated face morphed into an immense silent mirror. A heavy silence was flowing between the high clouds and the water, meandering like a black venomous snake in a humid jungle.
Sitting on the shore, bewitched by love, none of us moved or spoke.
After a while, Miquel said:
“I stood up to my own God for you, Clara. When I will leave this world, I want you to know that will not kneel in front of Him to beg for forgiveness. If I have to burn in hell, so be it. Love has nothing to apologize for.”
He felt silent.
His green brilliant were eyes scrutinizing the horizon.
For some reason he looked to me like a new version of Columbus determined to reach the East Indies, and instead ending up in San Salvador. Was it better?
I turned toward him. Drops of water were trickling on his neck.
Was it raining, or was I crying?